If I Were The Prime Minister

I had an inter house creative writing competition at school last week. Usually I don’t participate in these competitons. They’re too dumb. But I think some house-spirit got into me that day and I signed up. *shudders* The teacher, knowing what a slacker I am, forced me to practise some topics. Smack bang in the middle of a writer’s block. Hmph. I wrote on ‘If I Were ThePrime Minister’. The teacher wanted something optimistic and uplifting and full of idealism. Here is what she got.

It is perhaps excessively optimistic to say that all politicians start out with honest intentions. However, it would be equally pessimistic to say none of them do.The proverbial ’system’ has a plague like tendency to affect everyone within it’s reach. The idea of one man fighting against the system and succeeding is mere cinematic romanticism. If I were to become the Prime Minister it would undoubtedly involve a lengthy campaign during which I would have made several ambiguous promises to the people in order to secure their votes. I would like to say I would live up to all those promises once I don the purple but that would be naive idealism. Realistically speaking, it is more likely that I will try, to an extent, and the ’system’ being what it is – a regressive monster whose reins are held by a band of unscrupulous bandits, it will in all probability prevent me from having any measure of success. Eventually I will give up in disgust and join that same merry gang. One more goes to the dark side. Ho hum.

One of the greatest flaws of democracy is that the people choose. This prevents real change from taking place for the public as a collective entity has the intelligence level of a newt and has next to nil foresight. Reservation in educational institutions for the constitutionally defined minorities is an excellent example of this problem. Reservation was never introduced as a permanent feature. It was meant to bring the minorities at par with the general category and then to be abolished. However it quickly evolved into a powerful political aide and is now an important tool of votebank politics. Anyone with the courage to propose it’s abolition will face intense opposition, both from the members of his own party and the Opposition party and if inspite of everything he/she succeeds the person has no chance of being re-elected. Hence anyone with even a drop of ambition running in their veins will never propose such a thing.

If I become the Prime Minster I would rather, through means political and military, effect a coup and establish enlightened despotism. Despotism in my opinion, is an excellent form of governance. For all it’s flaws it has none of the hypocrisy of democracy. A dictator has the power to implement what he deems right. A democractically elected leader does not have that privilege. He is subject to the whims of the public. At the same time he uses these to manipulate the public to his own needs. Democracy, just like communism, looks great in theory but fails upon implementation. It maintains a facade of success which is misleading and stunts real progress. The people think they have the power but they are played like puppets and they don’t realise it. Moreover, despotism provides a chance for revolution and catharsis. That is when real leaders come to the fore.

Not my best, but oh fuck well, this is all school competitions merit. the actual competition was a disaster of gigantic proportions. Better not to speak of it.

Gadzooks! A post!

• Scene: Crowded, rickety excuse of a school bus full of noisy, smelly, apeshit kids. An obnoxious bespectacled idiot who got beat up by a girl two years younger to him the previous day is singing Altaf Raja songs in the background.

Characters:
Imbecile – Corpulent, obnoxious and bored 11 year old;
Me – A super-cool 17 year old who is anxious to reach his house which, unlike the bus, has a        bathroom.

Imbecile *suddenly turning towards Me who is seated beside him* : Bhaiyya, aapki koi girlfriend hai? [Do you have a girlfriend?]

Me *tearing his eyes from the roadside where stands a squat building stained in various unhealthy shades with the words ‘Sulabh Shauchalya’ painted on it* : Nahin… [No...] (The truth in that response is up for speculation)

Imbecile *with a gap toothed grin which makes people want to punch him. Hard* : Haan, aap se koi patne bhi nahin waali. [Yeah, no girl's gonna fall for you.]

Kids these days… *shakes head in despair*

• Belated Happy 109th to Ernest Hemingway. R.I.P.

• Jimmy Page and David Gilmour have been ousted. My favourite guitarist now is jazz fusion guitarist John McLaughlin who was a guitarist on some of Miles Davis’ albums, most notably Bitches Brew, and formed one of the most influential jazz fusion bands ever -The Mahavishnu Orchestra. He also formed the first fusion band ever – Shakti which consisted of Zakir Hussain, L. Shankar and several other Indian musicians apart from McLaughlin way back in the 70s when the term ‘fusion’ wasn’t even used in relation to music. Second on the list is Lou Reed, guitarist for the Velvet Underground and the man responisble for Metal Machine Music, arguably the rock music counterpart of Finnegan’s Wake.

• My classmates are regressive, homophobic, narrow minded, tasteless morons and I hate them all.

• Anyone who likes juicy, vitriolic Early Middle Ages gossip go read The Anekdota by Procopius of Caesarea.

So yeah, the point of this post is… nothing.

Currently Listening To : Shakti - Two Sisters

Heh.

You know you’re a sadist when you, forced to courier a fucking package for your friend, pack it so tight that it takes him forever to open and this makes you feel better about having gone through all that effort to pack it and resist the urge to pop the frigging bubblewrap.

On a somewhat different note, I am addicted to this now. – http://www.virtual-bubblewrap.com/popnow.shtml

Yet another tag

Last movie seen in a theatre:

Dhoom. September 2004 I think. My friends forced me. No wait, does a school trip to watch Space Station 3D count? If so then April 2006.

What book are you reading?

Catch-22 by Joseph Heller and Histories by Herodotus

Favourite board game:

Scotland Yard, Cluedo, Monopoly

Favourite magazine:

The Magazine supplement of The Hindu and MAD.

Favourite smells:

Coconut oil, kerosene, a strange herb which grows near my house and whose name I know not.

Favourite sound:

The sound of orgasm.

Worst feeling in the world:

Getting kicked in the nuts.

What is the first thing you think of when you wake up?:

Is the download I started last night likely to be over?

Favourite fast food place:

Laxmi Bake Shop.

Future child’s name:

Samneric

Finish this statement, “If I had a lot of money I’d…” :

Hire ninja-pirates.

Do you drive fast?

I don’t drive. Never intend to.

Do you sleep with a stuffed animal?

If that’s what you call a fully loaded double barrelled shotgun. I call it Ethelred.

Do you eat the stems on broccoli?

Yeppers. Broccoli is not bad as it is made out to be. Poor little scapegoat.

Storms – Cool or Scary?

Cool for the most part. Scary when trees are almost being uprooted.

If you could dye your hair any colour, what would be your choice?

Flaming red, just for the ugliness factor.

Name all the different cities/towns you have lived in:

Delhi, Anand, Neyveli, Noida.

Favourite sports to watch:

Topless Women’s Mud Wrestling.

One nice thing about the person who sent this to you:

Abhilasha is a very good writer.

What’s under your bed?

I um… don’t have a bed. I sleep on the floor.

Would you like to be born as yourself again?

Hell yes.

Morning person or night owl?

Night owl.

Over easy or sunny side up?

Either works.

Favourite place to relax:

My study with lights switched off. The farms near my house when the weather’s good.

Favourite ice cream flavour:

Chocolate or butterscotch.

You pass this tag to –

No one.

Soar

His hair swayed like nimble dancers as the wind coursed through them. It beat upon his face, bringing with it a unique sense of being alive. It stung his eyes, so much so that they began watering. The water crashed onto the rocks below with a deafening, never ceasing roar, as if crying out to the halls of Heaven itself.

He spread his sinewy arms wide, his head arched up, facing the sky. His naked body glistened with sweat. The muscles on his arms and legs were burning, as if Hellfire were coursing through his veins. He felt more alive than ever before.

With the wind at his face and the evening sun behind his back he jumped. He cut through the air with angelic grace and speed. The surging, foamy waters loomed closer. Steadily, rapidly. As did the jagged rocks strewn among them. He could feel the water splashing at his face. Cold as ice. And he rose up again. Soaring towards the velvety blue sky.

A twinkle in the sky and he became one with it.

There was a whisper in the wind. A voice as old as Time and as sweet as elixir. It echoed throughout the Cosmos: Gabriel. Gabriel. Jibrail. Jibrail. Gabriel. Jibrail. Gabriel. Jibrail….

************

As Tennyson’s eagle

Teh 5 Things About Me Tag

So I was tagged by CJ. My writer’s block kicked in again and I haven’t been able to write anything even borderline decent in a while. Didn’t wanna let the blog die so figured I’d do the tag. Was saving it up for just such an eventuality.

5 things found in your bag

• MP3 Player
• Spiral bind notebook
• Faber Castell triangular pencil, Non Dust eraser and Parker Rollerball (blue) [Yes, I'm particular about these things]
• Some book – Currently A Portrait Of The Artist As A Young Man by James Joyce
• A bottle of water

5 favourite things in your room

• Computer! – What would I do without my ancient excuse of a computer?
• Bookshelf and the books inside – I wanted a wooden bookshelf but a metal one’s better than nothing I guess. I wish I had more books to fill it up with.
• My assortment of crude, improvised, mock medieval weaponry  - Yeah yeah, laugh all you want.
• Badminton Racquet – Bought it when I was 12, after lots of begging and nagging and unkept promises. I was in love with it for a long while.
• Random clutter – Old newspapers, sawdust, random scraps of paper with doodles on them etc. Come in very handy at times.

5 things you have always wanted to do

• Get published – This is pretty obvious.
• Lead a real cavalry charge – This one is slightly insane and totally implausible. I blame the history obsession and cavalry fetish.
• Meet Bono and Moby [and David Gemmell too but he's dead so... ] – Two of my favourite musicians. And David Gemmell is quite possibly one of my favourite writers, easily the one who inspires me the most.
• Oh and I wanna meet Girish Jadhav – Amateur military historian with a huge collection of weapons. Need I say more?
• Go to Ireland and Turkey – I love Irish music. And the BEER (I haven’t tasted any, I just succumb easily to the hype )! I wanna see Dublin, the city that inspired the likes of Joyce and Wilde. Turkey is a melting pot of civilisations and cultures. Istanbul (formerly Constantinople) is one of the greatest cities of the world. Of course, I want to travel all over the world but these two are at the top of the list.

5 things you are currently into

• Cartography and sub-creation – Drawing maps of alternate worlds and populating them with people and chalking out a history for them. Fun stuff.
• Grateful Dead – In the words of Lenny Kaye “Their music touches on ground that most other groups don’t even know exists.”
• Minimalist fiction – I just like it. The subtleity, the multiple interpretations, the abrupt endings. I like it all.
• Sassanian heavy cavalry – I blame the cavalry fetish again.
• Woodworking – One of my phases. Every once in a while I become obsessed with woodworking and cover my room in sawdust. Right now I’m making a wooden cutlass. I made one earlier but it broke. Not gonna make the same mistake this time.

5 people you want to tag

Ish (If you haven’t done this before)
Vasudha
Amit
Nikita
Nidhi

Currently Listening To: Jeff Beck – Rollin’ And Tumblin’

The Last of the Timurids..

A translation of the Baburnama, abridged and edited by Dilip Hiro, lies open in front of me. Over a dozen tabs are open on Opera (my trusted, if slightly unreliable, web browser) and till a few minutes ago I was trying to discern the exact difference between a Mughal and a Timuri Turk. It’s a complicated and daunting task and one I would have been better off not undertaking. But me being me, I couldn’t help it. But I digress. During the process of my as yet incomplete ‘research’ I stumbled upon this picture.

That old man, dear readers, is Abu Zafar Sirajuddin Muhammad Bahadur Shah Zafar, probably better known as Bahadur Shah Zafar II. And that photograph, is quite possibly the only one ever taken of a Timurid ruler. For a while I just kept staring at the picture. That old, tired, pathetic looking man, propped up against a mountain of cushions, was royalty. The last Mughal Emperor. Or perhaps more significantly, the last of the Timurid Dynasty. The last of a 500 year old royal family which claimed to have descended from Genghis Khan. The Mongols of Genghis Khan conquered the world and carved an empire bigger than Alexander’s. Timur himself forged an empire that rivaled his supposed ancestor Genghis’, in terms of size. And then there was Zahir Uddin Mohammad Babur Mirza, or simply Babur, Timur Beg’s descendant and ruler of Ferghana who later conquered Hindustan and established the Mughal Empire. Ironically, he never considered himself Mughal and had nothing but contempt for them. ‘Only mischief and devastation can be expected from the Mughal horde…’ he wrote in the Baburnama. But I digress yet again. That picture saddens me. His sunken eyes seem lifeless and devoid of any hope. Of course, that picture was taken in 1858 and he was already in his 80s by then and it would be foolish to expect someone that old to be full of vitality and rigor. Regardless, to see the descendant of such powerful, world changing rulers reduced to a puppet ruler [and I say that in the strongest sense of the term] and then to an exiled prisoner, fills my heart with sadness. I must admit to partiality here. I have a fascination for the Mongols and their descendants and a soft spot for Babur. Melancholy, as this makes me, I cannot even begin to imagine how it must have been for the man, to watch helplessly, the steady decay and disintegration of a centuries old empire, and the decline of one of the greatest dynasties ever.

A forefather of that broken man conquered the world.

I don’t know why I wrote this and I have no clue why I’m inflicting this upon others by posting this. That picture lingers. It made me want to write.

Currently listening to : Jan Garbarek – In Praise Of Dreams

Midnight Ice-cream

Not my best piece but I think I’ll post it anyway.

”Shiiiiine on… you crrrrazy diamond…”

I sang along with the MP3 player plugged into my ears. It was just aswell that it was midnight and hardly anyone within earshot was awake to listen to my hoarse, off key croaking. Not that I would have cared. Lazing around on the balcony, admiring the view, I was content. Down below on the road, two ice-cream vendors stood side by side. The fluorescent glow of the tubelights on their carts was the only illumination on the road. Like two shining beacons of light in the middle of a sea of darkness. The street lights were perenially out of order. I thought it strange that anyone should be selling ice-cream, of all things, in the middle fo the night. Who buys ice cream at midnight? I could’t recall seeing them there before. But it is entirely possible that I overlooked them on earlier occasions. Left with nothing else to do, I observed them for a while. I couldn’t see much due to the distance but trying to guess their conversation was an interesting way to pass the time.I wondered, were they friends? Did they get along well? Or did they treat each other with animosity, seeing as both of them worked for rival brands? I couldn’t imagine any two people being standing on the same place, night after night with no one else for company, being cold to each other. It seemed torturous to me.

A sudden desire to have ice-cream caught hold of me. It was absurd but my will power is a joke. I sneaked out of the house and climbed down the stairs. I avoid lifts, they make me claustrophobic. The lobby of the apartment building was empty save the liftman perched upon his stool, sleeping soundly. Somewhere, a dog howled. And then another. Then a third dog joined in. Then a fourth howl, this one much closer than the others. It woke up the lift man. He rubbed his face hurriedly, a sheepish look passed over his features when he saw me. He wasn’t supposed to sleep during the shift. The gate guard looked at me curiously as I walked out. It was not a particularly hot night, by April standards anyway. But it seemed hotter than it was because of the utter stillness of the air. It hung heavily, warm and stuffy. Trees rose up around me. Their silhouettes conjured up images of demons standing with their arms wide apart, just waiting to swoop down and consume you. The place where the vendors stood was a few minutes’ walk from the gate and I started to feel a little edgy as I walked all alone, everything around me shrouded by darkness. I was somewhat disappointed by the reaction of the vendors to my appearance. There was none. Somewhere in my mind, I had expected them to light up at the sight of a customer.

“One chocobar.” I said to one of them. The man was tall and lean. His adam’s apple protruded out like a steep mountain. His face was disproportionately wide, with beady eyes and bushy, dark eyebrows. The moustache adorning his face was long overdue for a trimming. The man opened the metal lid on the top of the cart and began digging into it, unearthing carton after carton of ice-creams. Finally he emerged from the depths of the storage, one hand triumphantly holding a chocobar packet. Money and ice-cream changed hands swiftly and I quickly tore the packet open and took a bite. It was much too cold but the chocolate coating mixed with the vanilla ice-cream inside, mellowing it and adding a bittersweet twist to the whole deal. It was perfect. Dwarfed everything I’d eaten before.

“Do you stand here every night?” I asked the man.

He nodded. “Every night.”

“Till when?” I continued.

“Around dawn.”

“Don’t you get bored? Do you get many customers?”

“Very few customers.” he replied. “But what can I do? The people high-up decide everything, people like me have no say in it.”
He seemed a bit hesitant. I suppose most people are when conversing with strangers at 1 in the morning.

I glanced at the other vendor. Somehow he seemed uneasy, impatient. It was almost as if he wanted me gone. Or maybe he was angry at having lost a customer. I licked the last of the ice-cream off the stick and threw it aside. My tastebuds satisfied, I went back home.

Back on the balcony, I could still see them. A third man joined them soon. And then a fourth. More customers, I guessed. Suddenly the lights on both carts went out. I could barely make out their shadowy forms now. One of the carts began moving sometime later, pushed by the vendor. The other cart, the one I had bought the ice cream from, stood where it was. The other two men seemed gone too. I stifled a yawn and ambled off to bed.

* * * * * *

It was all over the news the next day.

Ice-cream vendor brutally murdered and stuffed into his own cart. Body found miles away from his usual place of business.

I saw a picture of the victim. Death does strange things to one’s appearance. Beady, sunken eyes stared back at me lifelessly, almost accusingly. The wide face had acquired a sickly pale shade. Death is ugly. Death is infinitely ugly. The disbelief that I felt transcends words. It took a while for sadness to make itself felt. Sadness, which I was surprised to discover. One does not feel such sadness for a stranger’s death. Not in this age. Man has been rendered immune to sorrow unless it hits close to home. But then, a chocobar connected the two of us.

Currently listening to: U2 – The Electric Co.

When In Rome…

Since every blogger seems to be doing this tag nowadays, I guess I will too. God knows my blog needs an update. Oh, and this has been poached from Ish and Vasudha.

1. Put your iPod (or other source of music) on shuffle mode.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. You must write the name of the song no matter what. No cheating!

“If someone says ‘Is this okay?’, you say?”

Beautiful – Moby

I’m the encouraging sort. ^_^

“What would best describe your personality?”

Zombie – The Cranberries

Yes, I’m the undead. I wasn’t going to tell you people just yet but what the heck. Be scared. Be very scared.

“What do you like in a guy/girl?”

Positive Vibration – Bob Marley

That’s right. You’ve gotta have them vibes. It’s all about the vibes.

“How do you feel today?”

Animals – Nickelback

I feel like a draught animal who had to plough the length and breadth of the country in a day.

“What is your life’s purpose?”

Breaking Out – Santana

Breaking out of the mental institution or prison that I am eventually going to land up in.

“What is your motto?”

Bargain – The Who

Jaago grahak, jaago.

“What do your friends think of you?”

Moonlight Drive – The Doors

They wish I’d go on a moonlight drive and bump into a truck or something. Saves them the trouble of having to tolerate me.

“What do you think of your parents?”

Pretty Child – Indus Creed

Er… ahem, ulta ho gaya.

“What do you think about very often?”

Trinity – Santana feat. Kirk Hammett

Trinity, the Christian concept of God as three persons
Trinity Sunday in Christian liturgy
Trimurti, the Hindu concept of God as three deities
Ayyavazhi Trinity, Ayya Vaikundar, the triune God.
Shinto trinity
Triple Goddess, a neo-pagan / Wiccan trinity
Ahura, the Zoroastrian trinity

Source: Ye Olde Wikipedia

Actually, I am kind of interested in this stuff. *shrugs*

“What is 2+2?”

Square One – Coldplay

Ah well, close enough.

“What do you think of your best friend?”

Biding My Time – Pink Floyd

Oh yeah, as soon as his guard goes down…*STAB* *STAB* *DIE!!*

“What do you think of the person you like?”

A Spanish Piece – Pink Floyd

Ooh, latina.

Hola, senorita. [I have a feeling that's Mexican. Ah well, screw it.]

“What is your life story?”

Et Si Cetait La Fin (As If It Were The End) – Pat Metheny

Oooh apt! My life isn’t over yet, it just began 17 years ago.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

The Daffodil And The Eagle – Shakti

Shapeshifting rocks, people.

“What do you think when you see the person you like?”

Albela Sajan – Kailash Kher

“What do your parents think of you?”

Dazed And Confused – Led Zeppelin

Yeah, they’re dazed and confused. They can’t figure out how any kid can be this insane and messed up.

“What will you dance to at your wedding?”

Lady Godiva’s Operation – The Velvet Underground

Yes, I’ll dance to an avant-garde rock song about a sex-change operation which turns into a fatal lobotomy instead.

“What will they play at your funeral?”

Knockin’ On Heaven’s Doors – Guns N’ Roses

I’m not going to hell!? All those evil deeds for nothing!? :O Man, what a rip-off….

“What is your hobby/interest?”

Veracruz – Santana

Whenever I’m bored, I just pop over to Mexico.

“What is your biggest secret?”

I’m The Only Gay Eskimo – Tenacious D

O_o

No comments.

“What do you think of your friends?”

Free Bird – Lynyrd Skynyrd

Hardly have any friends. Mesa free bird.

“What should you post this as?”

Money – Pink Floyd

This isn’t going to earn me squat.

Old Wooden Swing

A whoop and a cry of delight
Forward and backward she swayed
Perched upon that wooden swing
Revelling in the beating wind
Revelling in that sensation
Of flying high among
Cooing doves and cawing ravens
Her laughter rang out like
The eternal song of Joy
Echoing across the sunkissed vale
Ancient Banyan tree
Old as time and wise
Woody limbs spread wide
Holding the valley in temperate shadow
Swaying around a gnarled old branch
The creaking wooden swing
Up it went and paused
To come crashing down again
Up and down it goes
Like the dance of Life itself

Wrote this months ago. Yes, I know I said I won’t any more poetry or prose or art on the main blog. I changed my mind. You know why? Because I can.

And I hate the new WordPress Dashboard.